Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Arithmetic Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Wednesday 12/14/2005 12:12:00 AM

Multiplication: 4 times 3 is twelve. Twelve, twelve ounce bottles in a case. Division: 12 divided by 4 is 3. Twelve bottles lasts just three nights. Two 12 packs still one night shy of a week.

It all adds up to costing a lot. In so many ways I hadn't anticipated.

I remember when it was all so frivilous. So easy to stop. But I don't know why now it's not.

The pages are the same thickness, yet hte ink bleeds through much quicker now. The ink is just as black, but it looks darkner since.

The faces. The memories remain unchanged. But like the end of any song they fade away.

Were the colors not enough. The truth not evident? I bled all over you and yet you you remain unstained.

Time didn't reach me, but you did. Colors on the verge of. Lips so secure against.

Every bottle emptied fills me up with all that was never there to be found in other sources.


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